


Eight Means, "Come Back Soon"

by DoctorTrekLock



Series: Resolution19 [52]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21633043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: Clint Barton-Coulson was getting lost in the heavy beat of the music when he felt eyes on him.Well, as lost as he could be. Heavily trained ex-assassin spies could only lower their defenses so much, even when they knew sharp eyes were keeping a lookout on their six. He was high on victory, on another mission finished with perfection, on the thrill of dancing to the same beat on the same dance floor, even if a decade had passed since his recruitment.Sequel to "Three Taps Means, "It's Lonely Here""
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: Resolution19 [52]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1275806
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	Eight Means, "Come Back Soon"

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Three Taps Means, "It's Lonely Here"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319631) by [DoctorTrekLock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock). 



> Prompt: Three Taps Means, "It's Lonely Here" ([x](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319631))  
> Source: December is a month of remixes and sequels  
> Title: "Me and My Giant" by Shel Silverstein
> 
> Originally posted December 1, 2019 on [Tumblr](https://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/189412776292/eight-means-come-back-soon-december-1-2019)

Clint Barton-Coulson was getting lost in the heavy beat of the music when he felt eyes on him.

Well, as lost as he could be. Heavily trained ex-assassin spies could only lower their defenses so much, even when they knew sharp eyes were keeping a lookout on their six. He was high on victory, on another mission finished with perfection, on the thrill of dancing to the same beat on the same dance floor, even if a decade had passed since his recruitment.

He was only two countries over from the last job this time, but he'd begged his handler for a side trip afterwards. It hadn't taken much convincing. If he didn't know better, he'd think Fury was getting sentimental in his old age, assigning them to the same region as they'd traipsed across almost exactly ten years earlier. It was a bit below their pay grade, but Clint knew neither of them was going to protest.

The beat was the same, even if the songs were different; deep, thrumming chords rattling every nerve ending. He danced with the same artless grace, if a bit more carefully. Another decade of injuries - even well-treated ones - could put a damper on anyone's dancing. He felt familiar eyes on him and felt a smile slide unbidden onto his face.

He looked up and found the man he knew was watching him. He was older than the usual clientele, dressed in an expensive, well-fitting suit that was about seven times more formal than the dress of the rest of the patrons, but just as revealing. Clint let his eyes wander leisurely down the man's figure and back up. He raised an eyebrow in open invitation and turned away, fighting back a grin. Oh this was going to be fun.

Other dancers crowded around Clint, but he ignored them, concentrating on the focused attention he could tell was getting nearer. A solid form tucked itself behind him, fitting them together like two matching puzzle pieces that had been put together so many times the edges were worn comfortable and smooth.

He leaned back into the familiar warmth and felt a bulge against his lower back. He tilted his head back until it rested on the man's shoulder. "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" he purred, fighting a smile that threatened his sultry tone.

"While I am quite pleased to see you, Hawkeye," the man replied, mirth dancing underneath his voice and hands resting solidly on Clint's hips. "I'm afraid it's a gun."

His ears weren't what they used to be, but Clint would know that voice anywhere. "Are you sure about that?" he asked his husband, wiggling backward into his hold.

"Unfortunately yes," Phil responded, sliding his hands around Clint's waist to pull him closer, enveloping him in warmth and the smell of his cologne.

"What a shame," Clint said with a dramatic sigh. "And I had such high hopes for the evening."

"Evening's not over yet," Phil whispered in his ear. Clint shivered in delight.

"What do you want, Coulson?" Clint teased, shimmying his hips slightly against his partner.

Phil's smooth, clean-shaven cheek slid against his hair as he murmured into Clint's ear, his voice low and dark. "I'd like you to come home with me, Mr. Barton."

Clint's breath caught. He thought about late nights at dance clubs with loud music and a pounding bass. About how that anonymity had once been the most relaxed he'd thought he would ever get. He thought about a night very much like tonight when a man in a suit had invited him home in a very different way. He thought about happily ever after, of quiet evenings with take out and bad reality television after heart-pounding missions with firefights and explosions. His happy ending was anything, really, as long as Phil was there. He thought about _home_.

"Sounds like fun," he said, a little breathlessly.

Phil laughed, and the vibration of his chest sent tingles up and down Clint's body. "Glad to hear it."


End file.
